


Sordid Facts and Noble Use

by Nice_Valkyrie



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 12:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nice_Valkyrie/pseuds/Nice_Valkyrie
Summary: To see Kimblee again felt like a dream, or perhaps only a distant memory.





	Sordid Facts and Noble Use

**Author's Note:**

> "This tension, then—between lust and renunciation, undying recollection and undying repression, lyrical surrender and tragic duty, between the sordid facts and their noble use—"

The only warning she had was Hayate’s head tilting in confusion. Riza turned in the doorway, already reaching inside her grocery bag, and found that she was not alone.

He wasn’t a large man, but he loomed, whether or not that was his intention. It grew dark early in the winter, and his white clothing was almost luminous in the light spilling from her apartment. The hall behind him receded rapidly into pitch-black.

“What are you doing here?”

Kimblee’s disinterested gaze moved from her arm in the bag to Hayate, and then back up to her face. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

He was so direct that Riza was momentarily lost for words. Her palm found the butt of her pistol. “You presume too much,” she finally managed, keeping her voice low.

“It isn’t my presumptions that should concern you. If you deny me entry, I won’t be leaving.” A small, sorrowful shrug. “A strange man waiting outside your door so late would be cause for curiosity, wouldn’t it? Don’t some other officers live in this building?”

Riza pressed her finger against the side of the gun barrel. She had been told of Kimblee’s unexpected, mysterious release, but that hadn’t prepared her for an appearance in the flesh. The sudden shock of his re-entry into her life made her feel colder than the metal in her hand. At least that touch was soothing.

Kimble sighed and turned his palms out, as if to say, _See? Nothing to fear._ From another man, the gesture might have been reassuring. From him it was a threat, another unfeeling pair of blue eyes with her in their sights.

Riza turned and walked inside, leaving the door open behind her.

“You’ve always been so reasonable,” he said cheerfully.

She set the bag on the table and began unloading its contents. Behind her, there was a soft rustling as Kimblee removed his coat and hung it by the door.

“Surely you didn’t purchase that with your food,” he drawled, when Riza set the gun on the table.

She ignored him. It was more convenient to keep one weapon within reach, and in an unexpected location. If he had come upon her on the street, instead of at her door, he might have been surprised himself.

Well, he had always known when to wait, and when to strike.

Kimblee wandered to her side, leaning against the table. She didn’t like having him so close. There was an unshakable malaise that emanated from his presence, which coiled uneasily in the pit of her stomach. Riza slid the gun a little farther out of his reach.

Kimblee snorted. “And surely you’re not concerned about _that_.”

A tiny growl escaped Hayate, now standing at Riza’s feet and bristling. Riza pointed to the corner. “Hayate, lie down.”

He went to the dog bed obediently, his nails clicking across the floor. Riza walked around Kimblee to set the butter and head of cabbage on the counter beside the stove. Hayate’s intermittent disgruntled noises were almost cheering.

“It’s rude to ignore a guest,” Kimblee called over his shoulder, still mild as he pinched his cuffs to roll them up.

Riza steeled herself and returned to the table. Her thoughts raced as she retrieved the last item, a bottle of gin, from the bag. Was he here to harm her? He had always been something of a loose cannon. But she was a hostage. Didn’t he know how foolish it would be for his side, to act out like that?

Did he care?

“I can almost hear you thinking,” said Kimblee. “ _Why is he here? Why is he here?_ ”

Riza set the bottle down and crossed her arms. “Well?” she said.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I’ve been first?”

“Is this a social call?”

“It could be, if you were inclined to be social.” He picked up the gin and examined it idly. “Although there isn't much with which to entertain ourselves. Don’t you ever have guests?”

The unease roiled. “They’re usually invited.”

Kimblee acknowledged the jab with a flick of his eyebrow, then lofted the gin bottle. “May I?”

Riza didn’t bother to conceal her disbelief. “By all means.”

Kimblee smirked a little, uncorked the bottle, and sniffed. **“** Rather strong stuff, isn’t it?” he said. But he drank with a straight face, his mouth hard and sure against the glass.

“I usually water it down,” said Riza, glancing away.

“No, no, it’s fine as-is,” said Kimblee, with only the trace of a grimace. “A good, robust flavor. Heavy on the botanicals.”

He held the bottle out. “Share it with me.”

Riza wanted to refuse. But it hadn’t been a question, and she still didn’t know what he wanted. She took the bottle by the base, because his fingers were on its neck. By the time she saw that he had turned the wet place he had drunk from to face her, she was already raising it to her lips.

The liquor burned. “Why are you here?” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She already had her suspicions, and they centered on her visit to the postal office that afternoon. She mailed letters infrequently enough, but today she had sent a package. Surely that was unusual enough for investigation. If she had been found out, her message discovered…That was the only reason she could think of— _would_ think of—for his intrusion.

But the answer he gave was utterly unexpected.

“Selfishness, I suppose.” He reached for the gin. “I wanted—”

From the corner came a more substantial growl. A flicker of annoyance crossed Kimblee’s features.

“Hayate, come,” said Riza, walking away from the table. With a twinge of regret, she shut him in the next room. Then she paused to wonder how long it would take Kimblee to come after her if she waited.

Kimblee’s gaze stayed fixed on her as she returned. He waited to begin until she was at his side again.  “You could call it selfish,” he said, “but I wanted to find myself in your company.”

Riza had the distinct impression of being under an interrogation spotlight. His attention was absolute and piercing.

“Does that idea make you uncomfortable?” he said quietly.

Riza rested her hip against the table. “I don’t understand how you can say such things. We hardly spoke.”

“I was your commander for a short period. And we were certainly on more than speaking terms. Or have you forgotten?”

Riza tried to keep her face blank. The glimmer of triumph in Kimblee’s eyes told her she hadn’t been entirely successful.

“I enjoyed our conversations then, and I don’t see why that should have changed.” Kimblee took another sip, then sighed. “And you’re just as beautiful. I won’t pretend to be above such things.”

Her stomach lurched. He wasn’t being overtly threatening—but then, he didn’t need to be. Not when Riza could feel her palms sweating from his mere presence.

She accepted the bottle and took a bolstering, blistering sip.  “Are you trying to frighten me?”

“Frighten you?” He reached for her, as if to pat her on the shoulder, but then drew back. “Are you frightened?”

“No. But you keep showing your hands.”

“Ah.” He slid one back in his pocket, pressed the other palm flat on the table. “Does that make you feel any better?”

The lean brought him slightly closer into Riza’s space. “Not especially.”

“But you say you’re unmoved. I wonder…” Kimblee looked her body up and down with the detached expertise of a surgeon. “…are you still armed?”

“Don’t like being surprised?”

“That’s difficult to do. People are extremely predictable.”

Riza took another sip of gin. “Pride already tried playing at this kind of intimidation. Or didn’t he tell you?”

“Oh, yes.” He looked thoughtful. “Given that recent history, I suppose yours is an understandable perspective. But you don’t have to see it that way. It could be…two old friends sharing a drink.”

“If this is intimidation, it’s a failure so far. We both know you can’t touch me.”

Kimblee reached for the bottle again. “And if we were two old friends?”

His fingers brushed against hers, lingering a second too long. Riza jerked her hand away. “If your only purpose is to torment me—”

“That is _such_ a strong word. I do have a reason, and I think you’ll be quite interested in hearing it. It’s simply been so long since I’ve had the pleasure of your conversation, I’m getting a bit carried away.”

“Get to the point or leave.”

The amusement in Kimblee’s eyes went flat in an instant. His gaze wandered away from her as he lifted the bottle and drank, staring off into some distance Riza could neither fathom nor appreciate.

“I’ve been terribly bored since my last assignment,” he sighed. “My esteemed superiors aren’t giving me any interesting work. In fact”—and his gaze snapped back to her, riveting as a gun aimed between her eyes—“I’m so bored that if you don’t indulge me I might just have to create my own fun. There’s a slum community not far from here, isn’t there?”

He nudged the gin towards her and clasped his hands together in front of him, smiling.

“But…you may ask me to leave again, if you wish.”

It wasn’t fear making her hands shake, Riza realized—or at least not entirely fear. Another part was anger. Behind Kimblee’s eyes was a cold, uncaring void. She hated him.  She hated his cleverness, his quick understanding; the cruelty with which he exploited it; and, most of all, his self-assurance, the absolute certainty he carried with him like a second impenetrable skin.

In the corner of Riza’s vision, Kimblee seemed to shiver as she picked up the gin. She took a large swallow, enduring the liquor until she risked coughing all that scorching bravery back up. And she did retch, a little, when she set the bottle down, but she faced Kimblee squarely and held herself steady.

He looked pleased.

“This afternoon,” he began, “at the end of an undoubtedly diligent working day, you left Central Command for an unusual destination. Normally you would go straight to the market for your weekly shopping. Today, however, you first detoured to the postal office; to send a novel to, I believe, Sergeant Kain Fuery. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” said Riza. “A recommendation I thought he would enjoy.”

“Bookish, is he?”

“Fairly.”

“Are you?”

Riza was acutely aware of the empty walls. “When I have the time.”

“And if I opened the package, would I find an ordinary volume? No notes tucked between the pages?”

“Of course not.”

Kimblee’s smile became deeper and more pleasant. The effect was unsettling. “An alteration of the author’s remarks or dedication, perhaps? The imprint, on the pages, of a note written forcefully upon an overlain sheet of paper?”

Riza swallowed with some effort. “No.”

“Certainly not. That would be amateur.” He took the gin again, drank while watching her. “You’re a seasoned soldier. You would never be so sloppy.”

There it was, then. He had intelligence on her. Even if he hadn’t intercepted the package or divined the contents of her communications, she was discovered. She would have to be more cautious.

“If I had,” Riza began, choosing her words carefully, “sent some illicit—”

“Please, my dear, let’s not play these games. I feel we each deserve some transparency.”

He had dogged her at every turn, until she almost felt boxed in against the table. Silly. There was a whole room open just over her shoulder. Riza lifted her chin. “Are you here on the Fuhrer’s orders?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, I’m acting entirely on my own.” A strange expression flitted over his face, not quite a smile, though it had the mirth of one. “They might not be too pleased if they discovered our rendezvous...”

Her head was swimming noticeably. Kimblee’s actions made no sense, but it was difficult to think through the reasons. “Why would you risk—”

Kimblee grabbed her hand, trapping it against the bottle.

“You’re caught up in the details,” he said sharply. “Broaden your perspective. There’s no joy in crushing a pathetic enemy, as much as it pains me to call you my enemy. But we are, as it stands, and I want an opponent that will make this…” His gaze traveled across her face. “…worthwhile.”

Riza was suddenly squeezing the bottle so hard she thought it might shatter.

 

***

 

It was late in the war. Cadet Hawkeye was young and subordinate to most everyone else in camp, and Major Kimblee had never had any qualms about exercising his authority. Not that he had needed to: she had sought him out. She had been restless, or maybe simply numb, but it had been her decision. Her decision, she reminded herself over and over, to come here, to kiss him, to climb into his cot and be under him.

Kimblee kissed insistently, or sometimes ravenously, depending on how much he chose to use his teeth. His hand was up her shirt, his thumb rolling her nipple until she couldn’t stifle her moan. When she opened her eyes, he was already looking at her. He stared back with a blue like ice and pinched hard.

She jerked at the pain. Then she felt an unmistakable throb against her thigh, one she recognized from the boys she had kissed at home with eager mouths and hands, the ones whose pricks stuck straight out in their pants as soon as their lips met hers. This was different—not the light, bubbly nerves that had filled her stomach back then, but a deeper, colder fear. He smelled like the air before a thunderstorm and the sharp musk of an angry snake. Danger, danger.

“Relax,” he told her, even as he reached for her zipper.

As he kissed her again, Riza began to have the queer feeling that these things were being done to her body and not to her. He was thin but heavy, and where his weight was on her chest she couldn’t breathe. Did he know? He wasn’t being careful, if he did. Her nipple hurt and his hand had moved to the bare skin of her hip. Couldn’t he tell that she was nervous, and recognize what it must mean? Wouldn’t he want to go slowly? Gently?

Maybe not. Maybe not him.

But there was still no going back.

Their skin stuck together where it touched. He began working at his own pants, but languidly. His lips tasted like salt, and a droplet of sweat rolled down the side of her face, tickling uncomfortably as it ran into the crevices of her outer ear. She couldn’t tell whose sweat it was. They were both damp, both warm, and uneven breathing filled her ears as a heartbeat thumped loudly beneath her skin…

The movement stopped. His body sighed against hers.

“This isn’t worth it,” he muttered.

The cot creaked as he pulled away, and the sudden flush of air nearly made Riza shiver. Kimblee shifted down, tugging her pants off over her ankles. He lay flat and propped her knees over his shoulders, and then, just as Riza understood what was about to happen, he pressed his mouth between her legs.

She stared at the canvas overhead as he did it. His tongue felt good, but it was the relief coursing through her body that made her arms heavy and her fingertips numb. Relief that strong could almost be mistaken for relaxation. Almost—as his tongue slid around and around in breathtaking circles—almost easily enough to allow her to—

“Well, then,” he mumbled, as the tension in her body built to an unbearable peak, “are you going to show me something beautiful?”

 

***

 

Kimblee released her hand. “Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Riza gripped the edge of the table hard. “You’re toying with me.”

“No, no.” His tone was still mild, but with an unmistakable edge of irritation. “I mean every word I say. Where’s the satisfaction if there’s no risk involved?”

“You’re going behind the backs of your superiors, and for some ideological fancy,” she scoffed. “But I suppose you weren’t a particularly good soldier before they locked you up, either.”

Kimblee stepped closer. The edge of irritation in his voice sharpened. “That’s incorrect. I did exactly as I was asked. As did you, though not without significantly more dithering.”

“Killing your own men? If there’s anything you could call sloppy—”

Kimblee’s hands snaked out and seized her wrists. Riza tried to slip free, but his grip was strong, and he pinned her hands to her sides.

“Another subpar assessment,” he said coldly. “I’ve never been particularly impulsive. I exercise patience judiciously. I can wait years, if I have to.”

His irritation was clear on his face, but his emotion felt strangely insubstantial, like a wisp of smoke passing in front of the moon. One good breath, Riza thought, her heart thudding in her terribly exposed chest, and it would vanish.

She should tell him to stop. She was almost certain he would. But the feeling inside her that was neither fear nor anger suddenly had another blazing component, one that made her feel hot all over as she stared back at him.

“Well, it seems as though you couldn’t bring yourself to wait for this.”

“This?” he said quickly.

“To nettle me. Or attempt to, at any rate.”

He turned her, backing her up against the table.

“Still fearless, are you?” he said.

“I have no reason to be afraid.”

One side of Kimblee’s mouth quirked up in a strange little smile that showed the glint of teeth. He paused, tilting his head to examine her throat. “Your heart’s beating rather quickly.”

She was trying not to think about that. Kimblee released her wrists, sliding his hands up her forearms and over her elbows, and she tried to ignore the tingling shock that touch sent out, too. His voice, like his movement, was smooth and eerily calm as he maneuvered himself closer. “The fear response is somewhat indistinct from others, but quite noticeable. Increased heart rate, faster breathing…perhaps a blush…”

Riza’s cheeks went hotter; Kimblee leaned in. His breath smelled strongly of juniper. “That’s a very fetching color on you.”

Her lips were numb. “You really believe you would face no challenge if you didn’t play these games.”

“That would be no fun at all,” he agreed.

“You’ve only grown more arrogant.”

“I expect I’ll find out soon enough if you’re still armed.” His grip tightened. “Or you could just tell me to stop.”

“You’re vile.”

He kissed her. His mouth was hot and the kiss sweeter than those she remembered, coaxing rather than demanding, and after a moment he broke it with a tiny gasp. Riza clung to the edge of the table, trembling.

“Vile—”

Kimblee was on her again before she had finished the word, hungrier this time, his tongue forcing its way past her teeth. His body was vital and restless, warm with blood, and Riza felt herself swallowing her protest; felt herself kissing back instead. Her arm slipped from his hold unchallenged and she grabbed him by the back of the neck, not gently, hoping her nails hurt as she pulled him closer.

“That’s a better response,” he mumbled.

She found his other hand and brought it to her chest. He began opening her shirt immediately. “It’s not about—rules, or sides,” he told her between kisses, between buttons, “only risk, and reward…” His hand was icy on her ribs. His hips were pressed against hers. “Will”—he shivered suddenly, clearly pleased—“and, I suppose, _won’t_ …”

Riza fought to anchor herself. He tasted like gin, not camp coffee, and there was no longer the pressure of rank nor the terror of war, but still the bitter sharpness of Ishval rose in her nostrils. She couldn’t quite deaden the awful awareness of what she was doing, or what she was about to do. Fucking a mass-murderer.

But then again, she thought, watching her own hands move to his collar, that could describe her every tryst now. What did it matter if she spent an hour doing this with him? She was already anticipating his body on top of hers—it would be smothering, she would struggle to breathe, but she would have to be all right—she wouldn’t be crushed—and then a new idea leapt into her mind, complete in its picture and so vivid it nearly blotted out every other thought in a surge of desire.

“You don’t like following orders,” she said.

“Not particularly.” His breath roughened as she worked, and so did the press of his hands over her body. “Not from those who haven’t earned my respect.”

“What if I told you to do something?”

Kimblee smiled down on her and slipped his thumb inside her waistband. “That’s dependent on whether I like the way it sounds.”

Riza led him to the bedroom. He shut the door as she knelt and retrieved the box she kept beneath the bed. Inside was a marital aid kit she had purchased despite her continued status outside that demographic. Sodomy, too, was likely beyond the scope of its recommended use. Riza tossed the lubricant and the tangle of leather straps on the bed, and beside them the rubber cock.

Kimblee picked it up. Against the pale skin of his hand, the rubber cock looked obscenely red. “Is this yours?”

He had an odd expression on his face. Surprise, Riza realized belatedly, and her heart began to beat a little faster in triumph. “Yes.”

“And, evidently”—Kimblee examined the loops and buckles of the harness—“not mere suggestion.”

“No.”

But Kimblee was already grabbing her again, so quickly that Riza had hardly processed his acceptance of her terms before he was twisting open the back clasp of her old brassiere, focused and sure. “As you command, Miss Sniper.”

Then it was the rest of their clothes in a breathless frenzy. Kimblee gave only the barest chuckle when he found the holster on her thigh.

When they were naked, Riza picked up the harness. “Put it on me.”

It took Kimblee a moment, but he figured out the arrangement more quickly than she had the single time she had tried the item on. Riza breathed deeply as he bent to tug it on her. It had been made for a man, and he had to cinch the straps tight around her hips and legs. He put the rubber cock in place carefully, almost reverently.

It sat heavy and unwieldy. Kimblee didn’t seem to care. He knelt and kissed the tip of the cock; and then, as she watched, took it lovingly between his lips. It wasn’t large—smaller than he was, she knew now—and he could fit the whole thing in his mouth. He slid it in and out, the red rubber growing wet, his eyes bright and hard as he looked up at her…

She had to push his head away. “Lie down.”

When he was stretched lean and long on his back, Riza pushed his legs apart and crawled between them. The rubber cock poked against his thigh as she bent over him. She opened her mouth. 

Some part of her hated that Kimblee would now have this image in his mind, to summon up and enjoy at his leisure. This was merely a courtesy. She wouldn’t look up at him, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her face. She kept her gaze on the dark hair surrounding the base of his cock, and on the shaft growing slick from her attentions.

His hand was suddenly in her hair. Riza glared up at him with all the venom she could muster.

He withdrew with a laugh. “Never stop looking at me like that.”

Riza let his cock fall from her mouth, against his protesting noise.

“Oh, don’t let that spoil our fun.”

“I’m not.” She reached for the lubricant.

As she poured it over the rubber cock, Kimblee took a pillow and bundled it under his hips so he was tilted up and open to her, raising and spreading his legs.

“Turn over,” she told him, holding the slicked appendage delicately.

“I want to see you.”

Riza shook her head, but Kimblee closed her wet hand over his cock, squeezing. She felt, suddenly, the same bolt of horror as the first time she had pulled the trigger on another person.

She swallowed hard.

“Only if you don’t touch yourself.”

Kimblee let go, and Riza moved forward. But he was too close like this, brushing her hair gently from her face. As Riza pressed the tip of the cock against him, she wished she could make him look away. Then the pressure was gone and the cock had slipped inside him, not very far but fast, so that he sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at her hair, his grip painfully tight. She froze.

“Go on,” he said tersely.

So she did. The thrusting motion was awkward, unfamiliar; and the rubber cock wasn’t quite flush with her body, so there was a delay in its movement, and she had to work harder to push it into him. But Riza still stared as if hypnotized at the slick place where their bodies were joined—almost.

“Be smooth,” Kimblee told her, reaching for her hip, “sinuous. You want to engage your entire body. Don’t be afraid to use those wonderful muscles.”

Kimblee held on to her, guiding her forward and back. Looking over the long flat expanse of his stomach, his thighs firm and warm under her palms, Riza knew it wouldn’t have felt like this the other way around, not even if she had ridden him. Her body ached at the thought, wistful for that fullness, but as she pushed in again it was almost like the cock was her own flesh. The ghost of a sensation. Did he feel like she would have, being penetrated?

When she wrapped her hand around him again she felt focused and sharp. Kimblee’s hands roved over her, groping her waist, her hips, squeezing whenever her touch made him shudder. In a sudden burst of understanding, she could see every detail and yet the whole picture at once spread out beneath her: his breath, held and released in gasps, in shorter and shorter intervals; the way the swollen head of his cock was darkening with blood; the slow rise of his hips and the low, needy pitch of his moan as—

Riza let go of him and went still.

Kimblee snarled as his body arched up, desperate and thwarted. Chest heaving, he went up on his elbows. “How unkind of you, Miss Sniper.”

“Shh,” she said, skimming one thumb over the crease of his hip to make him shiver.

Kimblee lay back, his bared teeth smoothing into a small, bitter smile. He pushed his damp hair away from his face. “I should have expected such cruelty.”

It was a weak barb, and Riza found she was smiling. Kimblee’s legs were spread wide, absurdly pale and angled toward the ceiling. He was vulnerable like this, open for her demand and his white belly bared for her taking. Arousal roared through her veins.

So she shifted, letting the rubber cock slide deeper until it began to make him moan with each thrust, and then again she touched him. It was easier now to maintain the same rhythm between her hips and her hand, stroking in time with her movement. And it was easier to tell when he was close, too, from the increasingly erratic pace of his breaths, and the way his cock pulsed hard in her grip just before she let go.

“How many times?” he gasped.

Riza dug her fingers into the thin skin that guarded his ribs. “As many as I want.”

They were close enough that she could see the sweat on his hairline and feel his hot breath on her face. “Oh, dear,” he said, with a stuttering, uneven little laugh, “keep going, my dear, it’s so intense.”

The next time she released him, she let her hips continue for a few thrusts, enough to keep him squirming but not to send him over. His face twisted in a silent, frustrated cry; then it receded, and the thin, sharp-toothed grin was back.

“Show me what you want to do to me,” he whispered. “What you wanted me to do to you.”

Riza sped up, fucking him through the burning in her thighs. Kimblee tugged her down by her hair. As she reached for his cock again, stroking faster and harder now, Kimblee began to tremble. His lips were rough, his other hand hot as he wrapped it around her throat, his words muffled against her mouth:

“If you stop again, I’ll kill you.”

The fear broke over her, but it was too late to stop, too late, he was all around her and his hand was squeezing tighter—Riza stroked desperately and snapped her hips forward, and Kimblee moaned and shook uncontrollably as he came over his stomach.

He remained splayed even after he was done. He looked almost peaceful, the relief clear on his face. Riza let go of his cock and pulled out without bothering to do it slowly, provoking a wince and small grunt.

“That wasn’t fair,” she said. Her heart raced as though she was running for her life.

Kimblee had one hand on his head, pinching his temples as he caught his breath. He sighed and opened his eyes. “I thought you deserved a warning.”

Riza unbuckled the harness, tossing it and the rubber cock aside. There was a frantic need between her legs, raw and exposed now that he had broken the tenuous truce. “You wouldn’t have done it,” she told him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Empty threats,” Kimblee groaned. “Of all the galling accusations…”

He blinked at his own mess, and it was suddenly obvious to Riza that he had no intention of reciprocating. His body and boredom had been sated; he had no use for her now.

But they weren’t finished yet.

Riza leaned forward on her knees, one hand splayed on the bedsheets, the other curving around his side.

Kimblee’s expression cleared. “What are you doing?”

Riza kept her gaze trained on him. She moved farther up, hovering above his thigh, her thumb smearing a wayward splatter across his rib.

“Tell me.” His eyes flashed a warning. But he wasn’t moving to stop her. Riza crawled forward, over his come-streaked stomach, his flushed chest, feeling the sinewy curves and bony juts of his body as she slid her fingers up. Kimblee was breathing shallowly again, wary but not defiant as he observed her progress. He licked his lips as her knees settled on either side of his ears. His cock, she thought, would have been hard if she hadn’t just fucked him to orgasm.

“What are you doing, Miss Sniper?” he breathed, as she slid her fingers into his hair.

Riza only gripped him firmly and lowered herself over his mouth.

After a moment she felt his kiss, and then the confident press of his tongue. He inhaled contentedly, and she looked down to see him staring back at her, his nose pressed into her short dark bush. Riza gripped the headboard with her other hand and watched the light in his eyes ripple and blaze as she rolled her hips. This time she didn’t want to look away; this time her soul sat perfectly in the chamber of her own body.

He made a muffled noise. Then his hands came up, fingers digging painfully into the flesh of her hips to bring her closer. She sighed and rocked back and forth, sliding slickly over his chin. His tongue was soft at first, but when he began to curl it against her clit, licking with force and intention, Riza grabbed his wrist and guided it back, taking in two of his fingers.

It was better than penetration, better than it had been before—because of the silence, because of the way he struggled for breath as she moved against his mouth. The harder she tugged on his hair, the harder his grip became, and the faster his fingers fucked her. She caught his teeth and flinched but didn’t stop. She heard him groan, and then felt it, a humming that seemed to reverberate through her chest.

Then his tongue slowed, becoming sweeter, lazier, caressing her clit and the flesh around it. Riza wanted to protest, but found she was stilling instead. Between his mouth and the careful slide of his wet fingers she felt herself suspended. The sensation stretched infinitely through her and on and on, the endless, beautiful, agonizing certainty that that he would make—that she was going to—and then the pleasure shattered all at once and Riza gasped and shuddered violently against his mouth as she came.

When she resurfaced, she was dizzy and breathless, her blood tingling throughout her body. She looked down. Kimblee’s mouth was slick and shiny, and his fingers were still inside her. He licked her again—once, twice, tenderly—but Riza drew away, and collapsed on the bed beside him.

They lay like that and breathed together for a moment. Then Kimblee pushed himself up and stalked off to the bathroom. Riza felt oddly vulnerable in her own bed, like her skin was thin as paper.

 _Amateur_ , he’d called her code. But he thought she could do better…

When she allowed herself a full-body stretch, she didn’t tear.

“Would you like one?”

Kimblee was standing over her, his hair down and stomach clean, holding out a cigarette case.

“I don’t smoke. Open the window.”

“Excitement wears off so rapidly,” he said, crossing the room and raising the shutter. “I like doing what I can to prolong it…” He bent his head over the hissing spark of the lighter.

“Sometimes it even works,” he said, exhaling into the night.

Riza sat up. Kimblee’s back was arched as he rested at the window, the weak moonlight silvering the lines of his lean body. He had smoked after their encounter in Ishval, too, she remembered; risen from his cot, dressed, and stepped outside his tent without offering her to join him. Perhaps he had assumed she had her own cigarettes.

“There’s something I’ve wondered,” he said after a short silence. “When you came to Ishval, were you a virgin?”

Riza’s cheeks burned. How silly, to feel embarrassed about that now. “Yes.”

“I thought so,” he said, flexing his wrist. “You smell different. More womanly.”

He sighed out his smoke. “What a shame. That could have been something really special.”

The camp bell had rung not long after she had pulled her own uniform back on, and Kimblee had departed hastily for the field. So the cigarette—and her body—had been not a coda, but a prelude.

“Why did you stop?” she said. “Back then.”

Riza expected him to hesitate, to need a moment to recollect and consider. But Kimblee’s answer was quick and easy. “It was too hot.”

When she was silent, Kimblee glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you weren’t expecting something more meaningful.”

Riza ran her fingers hesitantly over her throat. She would have sworn he had squeezed hard enough to leave a mark—but she felt nothing, not even pain. “You wouldn’t have done it,” she said. “Killed me.”

The corner of his grin was visible. “Now, now, that’s enough openness, I think. A man should have some secrets, even from his lover.”

“Don’t say that,” said Riza fiercely. “Don’t ever. We’re not.”

A pause. “No, I suppose not.”

Riza took a deep breath. The scent of smoke was inescapable, but there was a hardy breeze outside, and as a gust of clean night air rushed in to fill her lungs the acrid darkness seemed less formidable. Spring was coming. She could taste it in the glimpses of chilled, moonlit air.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title and epigraph come from John Fowles. The full quote is actually discussing Thomas Hardy.
> 
> My eternal thanks to [Fullmetal Archivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1stTimeCaller/pseuds/FullmetalArchivist) and [That Hoopy Frood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Hoopy_Frood/pseuds/That%20Hoopy%20Frood) for beta-reading, and for humoring me patiently and frequently as I tried to work through this thing.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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